


Well Met by Moonlight

by Morgana



Category: Buffy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has an encounter in the woods</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Met by Moonlight

Spike blamed the music. Or maybe it was the moon. Whichever it was, there had been some force at work in him, for how else did he explain what had happened? 

The moon had been full, huge and rounded in an almost obscene display. The voluptuous white curves summoned everything inhuman forth, calling them out into the world that had once been theirs alone. The mortals stayed indoors, curtains drawn close against the overly bright moon, doing their best to ignore the eerie shivers of an earlier age and awareness that spoke of strange beings outside. Tonight, Sunnydale belonged to the otherworld.

Despite the increasingly human trappings of his crypt, Spike had been unable to ignore the call. Something thrummed deep inside him, like a drumbeat that he'd forgotten was there, but that now drew him out of the graveyard, towards the caves that housed the last remnants of the Initiative.

A bonfire burned at the mouth of the cave and beyond it, bodies writhed in the flickering shadows. Demons of every shape, size and description came together in every configuration imaginable, as well as a few that Spike hadn't know were possible. To his horror, he could feel the first sluggish stirrings of lust at the sight. He began to back away when a hand curled about his wrist. "Vampire," the red-scaled creature on the ground hissed, "Ffffffuck me." It released him, turning over and raising its hips, waggling them in an overt invitation.

Spike whirled around, running into the woods as soon as he was free, not looking or caring where he was going, just trying to get away from whatever was happening back there. He heard a distant screech, probably his would-be lover expressing its displeasure, but it was quickly muffled as the trees closed around him. When he reached the bank of a small pond, the vampire stopped and fell to his knees.

He felt flushed and breathless, even though he knew there was no way he could be. A strange heat crept over him, making his clothes tight and uncomfortable. As though attended by some unseen valet, the duster was slipped off his shoulders and hung over the branch of a tree, but the discomfort didn't ease much. His boots were toed off and set to the side, his mind racing as his hand stroked over the bark of the tree trunk in an undeniably sensual manner, enjoying the rough scrape against the pads of his fingers.

What the hell was going on? Spike struggled to free himself of whatever spell had been cast, and then he heard it- the soft tones of a flute drifting through the woods. An almost forgotten legend tugged at the corners of his mind, a story that Angelus had told him once, of full moons and Midsummer Night and a music that drove everyone wild with desire. Those who didn't sate it were damned to madness, he'd said, just before drawing Spike into his arms with a smile. Spike had laughed along with him, sure that if such a thing ever came to pass, he would be safe from the darker fate.

But now, with his clothes becoming more restrictive by the second, he tried frantically to think of a way to avoid it. He wouldn't go back to the caves and rut with the demons; he couldn't stand for any of them to touch him. There was no way he'd be able to make it to Buffy's before something fell on him and no real chance of her taking him in for the night even if he could. Caught between a rock and a hard place, he thought, his hand slipping down to adjust his erection, which seemed to grow harder at the idea of being between two such lovely firm objects.

No, stop that! He was not going to give in to this. He was William the Bloody, one quarter of the Scourge of Europe, dammit, and he was better than this! Cool air washed over his chest, soothing some of the frantic need while at the same time teasing his nipples into almost painful points. Spike's hands worked at his belt as he told himself that all he needed to do was concentrate. Wasn't that what Rupert was always telling the witch, that it all depended on the will?

The clink of metal as his jeans fell to his ankles made him realize that he was standing in the clearing completely starkers and he wondered again how he'd had the bad luck to come back to Sunnydale. Really should pick up and leave, he thought, go back to the crypt and wait for Buffy to come by so he could _drag her downstairs, bury his face between her legs and make her scream herself hoarse_ tell her what was going on. Or else he could try heading over to Harris'- not like he'd be tempted to _push the boy down to his knees, watch those big brown eyes when he sucked cock for the first time_ touch that prat, after all.

Spike moaned, hips bucking against the hand that had wrapped itself around his cock. He looked down in surprise to see his thumb swipe over the tip, smearing the drops that had begun to leak out back into his skin. What the fuck was happening? He didn't remember deciding to strip and he _sure_ as hell hadn't figured on jerking off in the middle of the bleeding woods! As though sensing his struggles, the hand around his dick tightened and began to move faster, and he was lost. He began to thrust back, fingers quickly growing slick with precome. God, that felt good!

But it wasn't enough. He wanted more, needed to fuck something more than just his hand. Spike growled his frustration, the sound blending seamlessly into the music that, if anything, had come closer and grown louder. Need coursed through him and he began to look around, desperate to slake the overpowering lust. Wasn't about to use his clothes and slog back to his crypt covered in come, and the duster was absolutely unthinkable. All around was only sand and sparse grass, trees and... that was it!

Spike knelt at the foot of the large oak tree where a thick blanket of moss covered the base and one of the exposed roots. He reached out, brushing his fingertips over it experimentally, the damp stubble sending a shiver up his spine. Forcing himself to release his prick, he moved closer, then stretched out until he was braced just over the juncture of root and tree, palms planted on the other side of the root. Closing his eyes, he lowered himself until his cock brushed against the moss.

It felt nothing like he'd expected- cool, the tiny nubbly texture soft like velvet against his aching cock. He'd thought it would be rough, maybe even scratchy beneath the surface, but all he felt was a firm pressure that seemed perfect for him. He moved, just a small, tentative flex of his hips, and his cock slid over the root, moss cushioning and protecting his flesh. Licking his lips, Spike tried a little more, sliding back further for a full thrust.

Cool, damp and soft, with the right texture that could very easily drive him insane... oh yeah, this was good. Spike firmly shut the thought of exactly _what_ he was fucking away, too relieved to have found some way of relieving the worst of the need that clawed at him. Music swirled about him, a seductive drone of pipe and flute, and he moved to the beat it seemed to set. Slowly at first, building until he was moving with wild abandon, the moss like a thousand fingertips overlaid on the hard cock of the root. Fuck, that was it! He hammered into it, sweat sheening over his skin as he climbed inexorably towards the peak.

Images flashed through his mind- Buffy, spread out beneath him, her hair like golden silk; Angelus, reaming him from behind, holding his cock in a fist of steel; Willow, clawing at his back and speaking in tongues while he ate her until she blacked out; Drusilla, his beloved Dark Princess, thrashing under him, her pussy clamped tight around him, the scent of their mingled blood filling the air... "Fuck!" he roared, jerking as the last image sent him over the edge. Come fountained over the root as Spike came hard enough that he lost control of his features, the demon emerging with a howl.

He never knew how long it was before he came back to himself, forcing the demon down with no little difficulty. Something about the forest and the night called to that feral part of him, beckoning him to give in to everything wild and primal about himself, and he knew it would be so very easy. But that part of him had been reigned in, leashed and tamed, first by a microchip and then by a pack of humans. Not a man, but no longer fully a demon- what was to become of him? Spike shook his head, slowly easing back onto his knees, trying to keep the tug of melancholy from dragging him down. The music had slowed, becoming sad as if it felt his pain and sought to assuage it, and then it stopped.

The crack of a breaking twig made him whirl about, eyes searching the dark depths of the woods. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

A figure stepped out of the forest- Spike would have called it a man but he had a feeling that the term had never applied to this being. He looked like some pagan god of old, standing naked and proud in the clearing. Tangled locks of hair, so black they had blue highlights, fell about his shoulders, draping over back and chest like the finest of decorations. A haphazard crown of summer flowers and winter twigs that would have looked unbelievably silly on anyone else was, on him, majestic and perfectly suited. But it was the eyes that caught Spike and held him captive: without any distinct pupil, they were fathomless, ancient and yet wondering in a way that made him almost childlike. He was the most beautiful creature Spike had ever seen, and as simply as that, Spike wanted him.

Something in his hand glittered and Spike reluctantly tore his gaze away from those amazing eyes to the bone pipes the other held. "You were the one doin' that to us," he said softly, somehow unable to summon the anger he'd have expected to feel. There was no urge to tear his throat out, no real wish to hurt this incredible being, just a desire to touch him, hear his voice and spend a few more minutes in his company.

A smile was his only response. The pipes were tossed onto the pile of black clothing as he sank down onto his knees, hands reaching to cradle Spike's cheeks. He was warm, feverishly hot in comparison to the vampire's cooler skin. Moistening his lips, he leaned forward to claim Spike's lips, but before he could drown in midnight eyes, the blond choked out, "Please... what do I call you?"

Spike felt as much as heard the rumble of the other's laughter roll through him before a rich baritone answered, "Call me Robin for tonight."

"An' what about any other night, mate? Might be nice to have a real name." It was dizzying, arguing with those eyes when all he wanted to do was drown in them, but Spike was nothing if not determined.

"Puck, if you'd rather. It's as good as any other, wouldn't you say?"

Spike wanted to laugh, wanted to jeer at the idea of calling anyone by the notorious Shakespearean prankster's name, but something in the stranger's eyes kept him from it. Whoever he was, whatever he might be, Spike didn't think he'd take kindly to the mockery that was his usual stock in trade. So he just replied, "Robin, then. 'S got more of a noble ring, yeah?"

This time when Robin moved forward, Spike tilted his head to meet him. Their lips met and clung, tongues slipping into each other's mouths to stroke and twine about the other. The vampire raised one hand, sinking it into the cloud of black hair, barely noticing when he was drawn away from the root and laid down at the base of the tree. Robin's hands slid over his chest, moving down to close on his hips, shifting him until he lay fully beneath the other being.

How long they kissed and petted, Spike would never be able to say. Time ebbed and flowed, whirling about them as if in some weird dream until he had no idea if it was day or night. Robin teased him to a near frenzy and then soothed him in the next heartbeat, fingers wrapping about his cock just right, drawing each stroke out like taffy until Spike wanted to scream. The first kiss had kindled a fire in his gut and every kiss, ever caress only stoked it, turning it into a blazing inferno that sent a wash of heat spiraling through his limbs.

When he thought he could stand no more, that surely he would go insane, Robin slid seamlessly inside him. For a moment Spike was confused at the ease of the entry, but the first stroke raked over his prostate and he decided he didn't care. The blond wrapped his legs about Robin's waist, clutching at him with his hands, moaning, striving for more, harder, faster, God, please more! A groan answered him, but the leisurely pace didn't change at all. It was as though Robin was set on reducing Spike to nothing more than a puddle of pleasure.

Spike arched up against him, doing anything he could to quicken the pace. He opened his mouth, trying to beg for the fucking he craved, but the words he had always commanded so easily refused to come. The sensual skill that he had learned in the beds of his family seemed to have deserted him, leaving only the fumbling, frantic need that was better suited to a clueless git like Harris than to an accomplished vampire of over a hundred years. How had he been reduced to this, where all he could do was whine and whimper into the mouth that covered his?

Robin raised his head and Spike looked up at him, struck once again by the unholy beauty of him. Black hair slid down to tickle his chest, the planes of Robin's face transformed in the moonlight to an ethereal magnificence that gave him the look of a fallen angel. The crown had miraculously not been dislodged by Spike's eager fingers- instead, it cast a strange shadow over Robin's brow, giving him the look of... horns? He reached up to touch, but a twist of Robin's hips had the tip of the other's cock slamming into his prostate and Spike's hand fell away as he screamed.

Bliss flooded every cell of his being, a pleasure so strong it verged on pain. Spike's hands sought the smooth expanse of Robin's, clenching on the muscle there, holding to him as the anchor to tether him to the earth. Those eyes bored into his, looking into the very marrow of his being, reflecting back all the nuances and wisdom of the ages. He felt Robin's body stiffen against his, heard the low groan of pleasure as he was filled, but it didn't matter, seemed secondary in comparison to watching the stars dance in those dark eyes.

Somewhere in the haze of the aftermath, Spike was drawn into the crook of his lover's neck. Robin's voice echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but he was too far gone to understand more than, "Drink, William." Without thought for the chip, Spike's features shifted and he sank his teeth into the honeyed skin. Blood flowed into his mouth, richer than any he could recall. Sunlight, shadow, rainwater and earth, like nature itself, if it had a taste, dazzling and overwhelming and gone the moment he tried to figure out what it was.

A hand eased over his brow, his ridges smoothing away at Robin's bidding. Spike was left to stare up in wonder, bereft of word or thought. "Sleep," was the last thing he heard and just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he wondered how it was that Robin had known his human name. But it really didn't matter... he would figure it out later. His eyes drifted shut and he decided a little nap wouldn't hurt, just for a little bit...

Spike woke to the early twilight. He sat up slowly, shaking his head as images of a bizarre dream flitted through his mind. It was with no small surprise that he noticed the evening was just beginning, and he guessed the trees had been thick enough to shelter him from the sunlight. Not that anyone would have noticed or cared if they hadn't been, but Spike was rather fond of his unlife and grateful to continue with it.

He got up slowly and began to brush himself off before turning to the jeans that still lay beside the tree. As he pulled them on, he found himself wondering again about the being that had called himself Robin. Was he a dream or had he actually been real? And if he was real, what was he? Shaking his head, Spike looked for his shirt, seeing only a glint of white where the black cloth should have been. Bending to pick it up, his eyes widened at the memento that had been left behind. The treasure was quickly stored in his duster before Spike carefully donned both coat and boots, then headed back to his crypt, occasionally slipping a hand into his pocket to run his fingers over the bone pipe there. Yes, it most definitely must have been the music. Or maybe the moon...


End file.
